Training Day 2

Jean Taylor
District 8 Male, 16

While yesterday the waves of nausea and the bloody headache turned my vision wonky and left me generally unresponsive to learning new things, I'm doing a lot better this morning.

And that's good, because I'm ready.

As I approach my allies, I smile brightly and wave.

"Hey guys!"

My allies both greet me, grinning at each other, and we immediately sit down to discuss the game plan for today. No one mentions anything about my crabby-ass behavior yesterday, and no one teases me about my obviously first-time-ever hangover.

"Okay squad, has anyone learned anything new since yesterday?" Geoff asks while leaning closely to the table.

"Not particularly," I shrug while looking at Logan, since he's the only one with a semi-competent mentor out of the three of us.

"I tried talking with Sunhdit, but she was so drunk I couldn't get a single useful thing out of her. But, I did talk to Morgana a little bit," Logan mentions, rubbing his chin. "I kinda pulled the guilt-trip card on her, and I think she felt bad, so I got a few tips here and there."

Both Geoff and I lean in, because Logan drops his voice to a barely audible whisper.

"Apparently a lot of people think the arena is going to be urban, as we mentioned yesterday, actually. There's also fewer books on poisons and plants, so she mentioned that it might indicate a longer and bloodier games. She hinted at the fact that practicing with some weaponry to get at least a rudimentary skill set is pretty…well, important."

"Okay, that's good," Geoff affirms, thinking. "At least we got the right hunch, or at least the one the Careers got as well."

"Weren't we going to practice with weapons today, anyways?" I pipe in, trying to be useful.

"Exactly! I think it's the perfect day to test out our skills, see what we're good at, so you know, we can last longer," Geoff says as he gets up, beckoning us to do the same. My knee bumps up and down underneath the table from the sheer nervousness of picking up a weapon.

I know I'm self-conscious about this part. I don't really think I'm all that great at anything, since the sharpest things I've ever wielded were the needles and scissors in Mr. Beltcher's workshop.

But we need to do this as a team, and I'm ready to give it all I've got.

"So, where're we heading first?" Logan asks, and Geoff cracks his knuckles, for emphasis or for show. I wouldn't have the slightest clue, but I find myself cracking my knuckles as well. It does wonders for my confidence.

"We could go for range stuff," I muse, as we walk together.

"I feel like … I mean, compared to the Careers, we'd get wrecked in hand-to-hand combat, so if there is one skill to learn, it's stuff that can kill them from a distance."

I hold my breath, waiting for their reaction.

I also try to hide my obvious worry. It only took two days for me to start contemplating straight-up murder as a casual and necessary action. As I wait for their answer, I internally pray that no one sees the disgust that lurches up into my throat as I dwell on what I just said.

Killing people from a distance won't be any easier than up close as far as my conscience is concerned, but I try to block that out. That's not what matters right now, and I'll deal with that when it comes.

Both my allies think it over for less than a few seconds, and agree with my plan.

"I think that's a fair assumption," Geoff affirms, leading us to the range and picking up a bow.

"I'd wager I'm absolute shit with a bow," he laughs, cocking the arrow to his face comically, squinting with one eye, his tongue lolling out and releasing the arrow. He doesn't even bother making sure it is aligned with the bow, and the arrow goes skittering a few feet away.

Logan chuckles and I hide my face in mock-shame.

"Come on Logan, show us something a little more impressive," Geoff prompts, and Logan takes a small tomahawk, positions his feet, and chucks it into another target. It hits it with a thud, and Logan's face lights up.

"Still got it," Logan murmurs as Geoff claps him on the back.

"What about you J," Logan turns to me shyly, still glowing from the success of his throw.

"I told you guys, I'm not really all that brilliant at anything," I laugh, but admitting it stings a little. They both seem so talented, even though Logan is clearly a little self-conscious about it.

I'm just… good at stuff that is completely and utterly irrelevant to being a decent ally in the Games. It hurts thinking about it for too long.

And then, just then as I'm about to spiral into a self-deprecation cycle that might last the day, I realize something.

"I played darts a lot, at home," I blurt out, rectifying my previous statement.

To come to think of it, I did all the time, after I met Safia. It was probably our favorite way to pass the time while waiting for the next order. Who knows, this might be the one skill that can translate into something useful.

I come close to the table with an assortment of weapons and props, settling on the ones at the furthest edge. They're the smallest thing available on this table. Small darts with sharp metallic edges and fluttery goose feathers on the other end.

I position my feet, kind of like Logan did, but while his stance was firmer, mine allows for more motion.

It feels natural the way the tiny pointy and potentially lethal dart feels in my hand.

I close my eyes momentarily, remembering the not-so-busy afternoons, when Mr. Beltcher was dealing with an unsatisfied customer or muttering angrily about a cancelled order. That's when Safia and I would do this for hours on end. Just throwing our little darts at the worn-out leather hide hanging from the back door. Trying to out-match each other.

A lollipop to wager that you won't even hit the periphery, I replay in my head, just to get myself into that competitive mindset. That's what Safia kept teasing me with, as I kept missing the few first times we played.

But as the years went by, I got almost as good as her. Almost.

And almost will have to do, here.

All that is required was a little bit of focus, concentration, balance and precision, all skills you pick up while working under a masterful clothes maker like Safia's grandfather.

I smile lightly at the memories racing through my mind, squint my eyes momentarily, and release the small pointed projectile towards the target. It is light, lighter than the ones we used to play with, but it hits the target only slightly off-center.

"Wow that's amazing, man," Logan gushes, admiring my aim.

"Ah, thanks," I shuffle my feet, looking down.

It feels great to finally contribute something to the table. I don't want to peacock myself around too much, since I do have that tendency. But being this scared, this paranoid of everyone judging me felt crushing.

Being finally able to show off that I'm good at something… it settles the nerves for the time being.

"Yeah, that was really good Jean! Do you think you could try that with throwing knives?" Geoff suggests, and I look up.

I see him holding three short but decidedly very sharp daggers. They each have four holes going through the hilt, as though to fit the fighter's fingers.

I take one, and twirl it around, testing out its weight.

"Should work, if I get a bit of practice," I answer, checking out the sharpness of the blade.

I throw it, and it hits the target, slightly to the left, this time. Both my allies release small sighs of admiration, and when I turn around, I see them clapping excitedly. I can't help but grin at their enthusiasm, their energy infectious.

"Okay guys, apparently we've unlocked Jean's secret superpower," Geoff announces loudly, and I shrink back while grinning profusely. I don't want all the tributes knowing my one slight advantage, but this praise does mean a lot.

"Let's just keep practicing here. I can finetune my axe-throwing, and I feel like this is a good place to start today, right guys?" Logan asks, picking up another heavier-looking axe and passing it from one hand to another, then swinging it from side to side.

"Sounds like a plan," Geoff agrees, and picks up the bow again. "And I'll just try not to take out someone's eye with this thing."

"As long as it's none of us three, wouldn't see why that's such a bad idea," I mutter, but smile a little at the mock-horrified expression on Geoff's face.

I pick up another dagger, twirling it again. Throwing these requires the same precision as for darts, but I need to adapt to the new weight distribution.

I whip my wrist slightly harder, and the knife goes flying straighter, with more purpose.

It hits the bullseye, this time.

Abel Collingwood
District 12 Male, 16

The constant sound of people talking, whispering, laughing is like someone grating their broken fingernails on the old dusty chalkboards that made me cough when Mrs. Quoela tapped her dirty brush to get the attention of the class.

It's as though all the noises, accumulated through the years of paranoia and constant stress, are rushing through my head as I try to focus on training. The people around me flutter around, disrupting the peace that momentarily took over my mind when I realized that surviving the Games was the only way out.

I was never all that great with people.

That's only amplified with the tension that is almost palpable in the training hall. It's less awkward today, people slowly forming bonds despite the futility of the matter, but that doesn't mean the anxiety doesn't ratchet up to a thousand every time someone so much as drops a weapon on the ground or slams their fist on the fighting mat.

But people are interacting, and it's bothering me more than I can describe.

The thing is, I really really don't want anyone approaching me. I don't care who they are, I don't care what their story is.

That was all my kid brother could think of.

Making friends. Doing what's right.

And that played out with him dead and our family mourning until my brain snapped.

Coming here. Volunteering. It was all a grave mistake.

But I'm done making those because I can't afford it anymore. And if there's one thing that I know, it's that people coming snaking their way into my brain and heart is exactly the kind of fuck up that qualifies as a big-time mistake.

Yesterday, everything worked out fine. I haven't exactly been idle, after all. I played around with close-range weapons, finding a knack for the machete. It's easy to swing around, and I'd be lying if I didn't enjoy the wide-eyed looks I got as I trained.

I never really stood out too much in the crowd, in District 12. I didn't feel the need to, considering I had no friends, and no brother. I was part of the faceless mass that got subjugated and abused and silently took the brunt of it.

But the way the younger District 3 boy's eyes went comically large as I swung the machete and spilled the silicone guts of the dummy in front of me reminded me that I am a force to be reckoned with.

I decided that I wasn't going for weapons today.

If I'm not going to have allies, I need to have all the skills I can acquire. I'm not going down because I get some kind of freak Games version of dysentery. I'm not having my parents watch one child be stabbed to death by a Career, and the other die from a festering wound or exposure.

So that's how I find myself at the survival station.

I passed by here, yesterday. Only briefly, because the pair from District 5 were lingering then, and I didn't want to disrupt what they were doing.

They're there again though, so it's their problem now. I'm done being polite and tiptoeing around them.

I sit, too brusquely perhaps, because the boy whips his face in my direction, his sightless eyes seemingly focused on something far behind my right ear.

"You know, we saw you around yesterday. We don't actually mind you joining us," he says casually, and then laughs a little. "I mean, I can't see shit, but you probably gathered that already."

I'm a little bit taken aback by the comment.

"How did you know it was me?" I ask defensively, straightening my back. The girl doesn't look intimidated.

"You shuffle your feet like crazy," the dark-haired girl supplies sarcastically, rolling her eyes. One eye is a brilliant blue, while the other is light grey. What an odd pair.

"Okay," I answer, for a lack of better response, and ignore them completely from then on.

I tap on the little screen near my right arm, where a small menu pops up. A lot of options seem very random, with no obvious overarching thematic pattern emerging. So much for figuring out where we're headed.

I choose the option to learn about the various toxins found in berries and fungi in continental weather regions. The images flip across the screens with brief explanations.

"She's Mara, by the way," the boy offers after five minutes of complete silence at our table. I lift my eyes in annoyance, and see Sparkle making a face at me from the adjacent camouflage table. The younger girl who is following her everywhere, Dory or Dayna or something similar, grins toothily, shifting closer to Sparkle.

"We're from District 5… damn, you're really not the talkative type," Five says and I nod slowly, before catching myself.

He's fucking blind, who the fuck are you nodding at, dumbass.

I must look embarrassed because Mara sighs, and whispers something to her district partner. At least the two of us seem to be on the same page about categorically refusing to speak to other people.

"Look, hey, you don't even have to talk, if you don't want to," the boy says, and proceeds to throw that statement right out of the window immediately, "What District are you from?"

"Andy, leave him be. He doesn't want to talk to us," the girl, Mara, cuts him off. She leaves out the part where it's clearly written all over her face that she's the one person here that wants to talk to me even less than I do.

"District 12," I reply, feeling a little bad, because the guy just looks so damn nice.

I regret my decision to indulge him almost immediately, because he senses this as a sign to continue his pestering.

"I'm not forcing you into anything, I just want you to think about it, Mara here kind-of needs an actually able ally," Andy starts, getting swatted in the arm by Mara angrily.

"Stop it! I don't need him."

"As I was saying, if ever you want to just hang out with us while we're doing these survival tasks, maybe we could figure out whether we'd fit together for an alliance?" the boy persists, turning to face me despite his partner's very apparent reservations.

"I'm not interested," I grumble, pushing myself away from the table in frustration. Can't I just be allowed to train in peace?

I don't want to get entangled in whatever is clearly going on here.

"I'm just saying, you know me now, so my ghost's gonna haunt your ass if you don't," the boy whose name is apparently Andy jokes, while wiggling his fingers in my direction.

I leave the table feeling disturbed, distraught and angry at this boy who seems to have so readily accepted death.

I didn't need to know their names, for fuck's sake.

I really didn't.

Mara Griffith
District 5 Female, 18

I don't talk to Andy for the rest of the training.

I do learn some decently useful knots and plumbing tips, of all things, but we're both left scratching our heads as to how useful that can be in the upcoming arena.

Andy expresses his concerns vocally as I glare daggers at him in response.

He doesn't seem to mind it one bit.

We eat lunch, keeping to ourselves and when the bell rings, we're back at the survival station.

"You sure you don't want to go do something else?" Andy asks me as I sit down at the small screen that the District 12 boy left in a hurry without closing his progress.

He got 8/10 on the toxicology quiz. That's not bad, for someone who looks like a tall brooding hunk of depression and angst. I feel like a hypocrite for thinking like that, almost instantly.

"I mean, we could do weapons. I can just sit back and practice knots while you do that," Andy keeps pushing. I turn at him aggressively, but don't respond.

I think he realizes that his attempts are futile, so we spend the rest of the afternoon together. Not speaking, of course. After his little trick previously, I'm still too pissed off to talk to him as though that didn't happen.

But I glance at Andy every once in a while. It fucking kills me that I caused him to be damaged like this, that I doomed him to die without even seeing what's coming. It's my fault he starts out with such a disadvantage, so I have to protect him as best as I can.

As I'm practicing my toxicology skills, my mind wonders to the boy from Twelve. He hasn't come back, and I spot him all alone at the parkour station, evading the obstacles with a deadly kind of grace. He's not nearly as good as the girl from Three, who I'm pretty sure impressed every single tribute here, but he's actually decent.

I guess you're not only good at sulking, after all, I admit to myself darkly.

Suddenly, the bell signifying the end of training rings loud and clear throughout the hall.

"Tributes, your second day of training is officially over. Please put down your tools, weapons or any material that belongs in this room, and head to your sleeping quarters," a pre-recorded message resonates across the training hall. Same as yesterday.

"Alright, let's go Andy," I mutter, closing down the program, and erasing my progress. I don't want anyone else seeing what I've been up to, and it's a good habit to have. Covering up your traces and all that.

Andy smiles at me, and we walk together to the elevator. He doesn't say anything after chattering the entire morning, which irks me. When we get to District 5's headquarters, I confront him about it.

"What, so first you're gonna out-of-the-blue ask some random person to be our ally without even asking me about it first, and then you're going to ignore me, with that smug expression on your face?" I ask my friend calmly, but the anger is betrayed by the slight trembling of my voice.

"Mara, we did talk about this. Yesterday I think I made myself pretty clear and Triss one-hundred percent agreed with me. Our mentor, as in 'the person who is going to be working to save both our asses', said that we need someone strong but dispensable. Someone we won't get too attached to. I say we need someone we can depend on. Abel … seems like what I'd like for you to have, when everything goes to shit," Andy elaborates, while closing the door behind us.

He's right, but I'm all worked up and I'm not letting him off the hook that easy.

"It's not fair that you have so little faith in me. I can protect you. We don't know this Abel guy, whose name you clearly bothered to learn, by the way, not creepy at all!"

"Yeah, not creepy, considering it's been broadcast on every channel of the country!"

For the first time since this morning, Andy's cheerful façade breaks.

"I'm a burden, and I just want you to be safe. I'm trying my best here. You're my best friend, Mara." He is clearly frustrated with me pushing back at every idea he has.

"You're not a fucking burden, I am," I answer, tears springing in my eyes.

"Stop. Breathe," Andy instructs me, and I growl at him because sometimes words aren't fucking enough.

I do take a few deep breaths though, and plop on the couch in our common area, that is deserted for now.

"You need to see this realistically. You can't do this alone, Mara."

"I am seeing it realistically. I can do it with you, and we'll both be okay, and –"

"No," Andy cuts me off forcefully. "Look, it sucks to admit this but it will take a miracle for me to live past the Bloodbath. I can't run properly, I can't wield a weapon, and I can't slow you down like this."

"I'll protect you," I protest weakly, but the words sound hollow to my own ears.

To his credit, Andy smiles weakly. "I know you will, and I'll try my best, I promise I won't give up but… you need some back-up in case shit hits the fan. And you can't just keep avoiding people. They're a lot less likely to kill you if they're staring in the face of someone they know than if they're looking at a nameless stranger."

He's right. But I can't find it in myself to overpower the stubbornness to stay loyal to ourselves and nothing else. I don't need an extra person to worry about.

"So what, you've like, officially proclaimed yourself as my agent or something?" I sniffle, trying to stop the stupid tears from escaping.

"Hey, I'm a networking god," Andy answers smirking. He could have been, if he hadn't been holed up in his home like some antisocial hermit because of his disability. That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. He could have shown the world his kindness, but because of me he was denied this for the majority of his formative years.

Triss arrives into the room on his wheelchair, immediately assessing the situation.

"Already back from training! How're you guys doing?"

"We're fine, just working out a few things," Andy answers and turns his head back towards me.

"On my end, I've called a few of the people, done a bit of managerial work," Triss starts, coming closer to the two of us.

"I called the mentors from Three, Seven and Ten, to establish some kind of rapport."

Before I can interrupt him, Triss raises his hand.

"Relax Mara, Eli laughed at me and told me her tribute had other plans, which, rude, if you ask me but whatever. Logan is already in an alliance that is apparently pretty tight but it was worth the try. And Ten, well, didn't get all that much information from Glenn either. Still a question mark, for that one."

"We talked to someone," Andy interjects.

"Oh, who was that?"

"Abel Collingwood, sixteen, the brooding tall guy from District 12. The volunteer," Andy counts on his fingers, as though every bit of information is a number. I smile at that.

"And how did that go?"

"Horribly," I answer at the same time as Andy says that it went well.

I stifle a laugh.

"Why do you think it went horribly, Mara?" Triss presses the issue further, leaning forward.

"I don't know, the guy doesn't want to talk to us. I don't want to talk to him. I think we're fine as is," I say, conscious of the fact that I'm relapsing into the same line of thought that Triss and Andy vehemently argued against yesterday evening.

"But," I concede, "he might be useful."

Triss thinks about that for a second.

"I'll look into him. It's good that you guys established contact. I'll try my best to figure out what kind of person he is from the limited resources we have at hand, but I wouldn't discard him as a possible ally just yet. He might just be the kind of guy to hesitate to kill you, if he knows who you are."

"Yeah that was my line of thought too," Andy says and Triss smiles at him warmly.

Abel seemed like a jerk, but… Andy is right. He's always fucking right even though I don't want to admit it. Abel might be useful.

"You guys did good today. I'll do my research tonight and let you know what I find. Go sleep now, and we'll be up early to discuss if Abel is worth pursuing."

I get up, leading Andy to his room as Triss rolls next to us.

"Goodnight Mara, I'll see you in the morning!" Andy says, waving at me cheerfully.

"Goodnight Andy," I mumble. Sorry I snapped at you today.

As I close my door, I hear Andy ask something to Triss.

At first, I want to open my door, angry about the fact that they're keeping secrets from me.

But the fact of the matter is that whether I like it or not, my entire system is in overdrive, and being this stressed and angry leaves me tired at the end of the day.

And I trust Andy, so I leave it be.

Salamandra Mitch
District 3 Female, 17

The four of us sit down for supper, Cassius and Pulse sitting opposite to Eli and I.

It's been like this ever since we arrived at the Capitol. A bit of a habit, in the midst of the excitement and the chaos, perhaps.

While I don't particularly bear Cassius any ill-will, I know for a fact he's not going to be the one to ensure my victory, so I didn't really bother interacting with him beyond what's necessary.

And from what I've gathered, he doesn't seem too inclined on interacting with me, either. I know Eli was excited to work with me after I volunteered, and Pulse naturally gravitated towards Cassius, so it worked out well.

I mean, I'm polite with him.

It's not like I'm a massive bitch, but we've just got different game plans and I'm perfectly fine with that.

But we don't go as far as eating supper separately.

Pulse and Eli are currently exchanging some anecdotes that I can't begin to comprehend. As much as I loathe to admit it, a part of me yearns that kind of camaraderie. I know I won't get it in the Games, so the only way is to join their ranks.

I glance quickly at Cassius.

"You got any allies, so far?" I ask him, genuinely curious. Apparently, he doesn't like my tone, because he immediately gets defensive. Typical.

"No, but I see you haven't either," he responds, jutting out his chin in defiance. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"You planning on it?" I ask, changing the question only slightly, and picking apart a piece of delectable bread with nuts and seeds in it. I dip it in molten cheese, and stuff it into my mouth.

"I don't know," Cassius says, and sighs. There is hidden sadness in that sigh, and I can sympathize. Maybe it sounds dumb and I'd be caught dead before I admitted it to anyone, but a part of me honestly thought that the Careers would ask me to join them.

I mean, I would have said no, because that's not my game plan. But it still stings my pride a little bit that they didn't think I was worth the recruitment. But regardless, they seem like quite the mess, what with Orla thoroughly fucking up their vibe.

I wouldn't touch that alliance with a six-foot pole, truth be told. Still, would have been nice to be able to rub it in their faces. Eli said it was good though, that I didn't. That would have meant enemies before the Games even start. I have a knack for that, but the action has to be saved for the Games themselves.

Cassius yawns, and I notice that the two boys finished their food. It's hard to picture Pulse as anything other than a boy, seeing as he is only about a year older than I am. If he hadn't killed four people two years ago, I would have taken him for one of the kids I'd specifically target to get by, for lunch or for a bit of spare change that they certainly wouldn't miss.

The kind of nerds that would push up their glasses and stare at you with defiance while you robbed them blind. The fuckers thought they were better than you.

But even those kinds of people can't be underestimated.

The tributes from Pulse's games learned that the hard way, and I don't intend on making that mistake.

Pulse gets up, with difficulty.

"I think we're going to go over some points with Cassie, so we'll see you guys in the morning. Night Sal, night Eli," he says, all puppy eyes for his old mentor.

I suppress an undignified snort, as Eli pretends not to notice.

"Goodnight guys. Good luck!"

Eli takes her sweet time finishing up her supper, but it's not like I'm in a hurry. It's not like I'm getting all that much sleep anyways.

She notices that I'm waiting for her patiently, and nods at the two bowls of soup we haven't touched yet.

"I'm a slow eater, what can you do. Let's take these two to go, we can finish up as we're working."

We head to her room, as we did yesterday and the night before. She's extended the offer to me on the first night after seeing how excited I was on the train and my knee-jerk reaction was to refuse, because who the hell does that with a person they just met?!

Now, I'm glad that I went along.

As I said before, she was clearly very motivated to work with me, and I could use as much help as I could get.

Tonight, she doesn't even have to ask, as I follow her into her large blue room, with two large bowls of soup in each hand. Fuzzy blankets are thrown lazily onto the bed, and half a dozen medication bottles lie around discarded. We've been here less than three days, and I don't want to begin to unravel the implications of that. Her large notebook is neatly tucked away in the transparent and futuristic-looking drawer near her bed.

She's got notes littering her entire bed, and I catch a few particularly aggressively written and highlighted notes about different tributes.

She's certainly doing her homework.

I mean, it makes sense. We hadn't gotten a volunteer since she won.

It's funny.

Eli is everything I theoretically would despise from our district.

Everything from the way she looks to the way she holds herself is contrary to my belief of what is right, and yet I find myself in her room, with a bowl of hearty soup in my lap.

She came from a staunchly neutral family, a rich and respected one at that, and those people don't sit well with me usually. But she seems so hell-bent on helping me, regardless of my story.

I find that admirable.

When I came onto the train, she greeted me immediately, telling me how excited she was to be working with me. I think it's one of the only times in my life where I'm taken at face value rather than having my parents' legacies thrown back into my face, as though that somehow justifies the abuse I am usually on the receiving end of.

I slurp my soup, drinking directly from the bowl, while Eli uses a large spoon, sipping thoughtfully at the thick and scalding hot liquid.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Eli starts, looking directly at me.

"Ain't got much to say, 's all," I retort. "Everything's rolling."

"You know, sounds cliché as shit but I see a lot of myself in you," Eli muses. "You've got that relentless drive."

I feel my cheeks get a little hot from the praise, but I don't lower my eyes from hers.

"Why did you volunteer? I meant to ask you yesterday and the day before, but you launched yourself into strategy immediately and I wanted to ride that wave. So, I didn't have the chance," she asks me, and I pause.

"It's… it's hard to explain," I answer, not wanting to get into the specifics of it.

"I know it is. But apart from myself, there are very few people out there that can boast about the fact that they volunteered for something. Most of the other tributes and victors… they just survive because they're forced to. We wanted this, in a way or another," Eli elaborates.

"I volunteered because I wasn't going to allow my airhead of a sister go into the Games. She got engaged that year, you know? And I was the shittier sibling anyways, so not much of a loss if I carked it," she continues, and I nod along because I feel that deeper than I'm willing to admit.

"Both my parents died when I was four. They were loyalists, so it wasn't easy," I open up, trying to keep my tone casual. I've replayed this story so many times in my mind, that it doesn't sting as much anymore.

"I had to take care of my little sister. I needed something larger in life. A lot of people think I'm a monster, and I'm sure even more will, once the Games start, but that's the only way to live in our society, you know? That's the only way I've been taught to live."

Eli purses her lips, but keeps silent.

"I … I genuinely think I can do it. Wouldn't have gone if I didn't," I finish up. "I need to win this, because I don't really have another option. For Nambie and for myself."

"I think you can, too."

Eli unfolds her legs from underneath herself, and gets up, reaching for the large notebook we spent hours scribbling in yesterday.

In there, we put our different hypotheses on the nature of the arena, the characteristics of the tributes, as well as preliminary versions of my course of action.

More than anyone, I know that this will most likely be thrown out the window the moment I'm in the arena, but there's never such a thing as being too prepared for something.

She flips all the pages, settling on the alliances plan.

"You know, apparently after your little stunt on the parkour trail, a lot of people have been looking into you. Triss from Five called me. I don't know how he got ahold of the footage, but he definitely did. He wanted you to ally with his tributes," Eli says, smirking.

"Yeah, not gonna happen," I laugh, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Exactly what I said," Eli chuckles, sitting alongside me.

Her bony wrist flicks in front of my face expressively.

"Whatever you've got going on can earn you stronger allies than that," she reassures me, as I nod.

"I talked to Glenn the other day, and it seems like his boy, Valentino Ricci, doesn't really have all that much of a clear idea of what he wants. Apparently, Glenn wanted him with the Careers, but I think you could get something out of at least talking to him," Eli mentions, scribbling down more notes. "He's the big pretty one."

"Yeah, I actually sat near him during lunch. Seems like an honest guy. The Careers are clearly dealing with internal issues, so they haven't tried poaching him yet," I think out-loud, tapping my own pen against my bottom lip.

"You'll go train with him, tomorrow," Eli decides, and I bite back a remark about how I can decide this for myself. We're both… stubborn and maybe a little overly commandeering, but she is trying to help me.

I finish my soup, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and lean back.

"Damn, I've never felt this full since before the war," I say, laying my hands on my stomach. Eli laughs again, pushing her fiery hair behind both ears simultaneously.

"Yeah, we actually got pretty lucky, but when both my parents got fired from their universities, I remember eating the same stupid bread and disgusting porridge and thinking that there's really nothing worse out there. And then I volunteered, and shit went real' crazy."

"But you won," I respond quietly. "How did you feel, winning?"

Eli shrugs. "It felt like I earned it, at first. I genuinely believed the world owed it to me, after putting me through literal hell, and I didn't particularly feel bad about it."

She's hiding something from me, I can sense it. But I don't press any further.

"When I win, I'm going to buy Nambie so much of this, she'll never go hungry again," I sigh, rolling over onto my stomach.

"You do that. The world is yours, when you win," Eli says, and again, sadness tints her voice as she stares emptily at the bottles of medication lying around discarded around her bed.

"But before we get into that, let's go over our plan one more time. Polish it a little."

Notes: Hope this chapter was worth the wait! Probably the last one of this decade, too, unless you folks get really lucky (wink wink). I'm always loving any kind of comments you might have about the characters, about the directions I'm taking them in and the possible alliances that are slowly emerging. In the words of the wise Kronk, "Oh yeah, it's all coming together", so any feedback is appreciated.

If I don't post before the new year, I'm wishing you all a lovely belated Christmas and a happy new year 2020!

Peace and love.